


Colors Instead of Words

by sarcat



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcat/pseuds/sarcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good. I also hope you are aware that if you are making s'mores, I automatically get at least two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors Instead of Words

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for my friend mrs-red-fox on tumblr who wanted something fluffy. Marshmallows came to mind. Kind of ridiculous, but fun to write and visualize.

Wally’s face twitches in annoyance when he touches the bridge of his nose. The sunburn there feels tender under the pads of his fingers, but it doesn’t stop him from navigating the damage, noting exactly how much the irritation has stretched and emblazoned itself into his skin. The cover of the trees should have been enough to avoid this, but the sun had managed to poke through as it was sweeping the sky leaving its trails of scarlets and pinks in its wake. He had welcomed it, he had let the last bits of summer speckle across his face just as the winds were blowing a little sharper and the air didn’t feel as heavy with heat. It was his last chance really. The leaves would start changing and the air would get crisper without his consent.

He didn’t mind the sunburn.

The sting of his touch lingers a little longer than he would have hoped. It will start peeling by morning. He’s almost certain of that as a sigh consumes him. Bending forward, he grabs a thick stick and adds it to the crackling fire before him. The flames hitch, grabbing the ends first and licking its way to its center before it’s nothing more than an outlet for the growing fire.  He just watches in wonder. He watches the sparks. He watches them twinkle until they burn out just above the flame.

_“Camping is dumb,” she insists._

_He instantly takes that with the greatest offense. His chest puffs out like the entire gesture would look threatening and make her change her mind. It fails miserably. He deflates._

_“It so is not! There’s, there’s always stories and bonding! Come on! What kind of person doesn’t like a roaring fire and s’mores with great company?” he says with fervor._

_“The same person who also appreciates plumbing and electricity,” she answers without hesitation._

_She folds the magazine she’s reading neatly in half before sticking it under her armpit, no jokes sneaking past the tight look of boredom plastered on her face. She adjusts the straps of her tank top with one hand before making a motion to stand as the heels of her palms dig into the plush green cushions of the couch. He blazes forward, hands finding her shoulders and pushing her back down._

_“Wait, wait! Come on, Artemis! You can’t be serious,” he ekes out._

_Artemis raises her head. She makes it a point to look him directly in the eyes. And he sees the dirty smatter of grey in her irises, but he knows if he searches a little longer he can make out little specks of bronze that remind him of the hazy desert._

_(He liked finding her there.)_

_“No, Wally, I can’t believe YOU are serious,” she corrects with a nudge of her shoulders to discourage his hands._

_He doesn’t budge, uninvited thumbs coasting over her collar bone._

“You’re still up?”

He doesn’t turn to greet her; instead he lifts a bag of marshmallows up high and begins jostling it around childishly. “It’s never easy sleeping on an empty stomach.”

There’s a disappointed breath that she expels. He can just barely hear it over the sound of chattering crickets and the low whistles of winds through the trees that push frustratingly bright red hair away from his brow.

“So, junk food is the solution?” She’s a little closer now, more disapproving than she had been a majority of the afternoon since they stepped foot on these grounds.

“Tonight it is!” he rattles on enthusiastically, “I already cleared us all out of the beans from dinner by the way. I think M’gann might have been expecting it because I can’t imagine anything more inviting than a few unattended cans of food and a gracious spoon to devour them with,” he says while patting the void of his stomach, thoughts drifting a bit after a pause in conversation. “Okay, fine. It would have probably been a lot easier if I didn’t forget where we decided to keep the can opener.”

“You’re gross,” Artemis doesn’t wait to add.

“I would have preferred something along the lines of impressed, but I’ll take what I can get,” he answers cheekily, bringing the sealed bag close to his mouth and ripping the plastic open with his teeth.  

He’s got a marshmallow squished between the roof of his mouth and his tongue the moment she finally decides to enter his periphery. All legs really. She has great legs, long and lean and he liked them. He swallows, head rolling back to meet her gaze.

“Well, are you just going to stand there all night and complain about every little piece of food that I decide to put in my mouth or…” he drags the last word out as he notices her shoulders relax, unclenched fists resting at her sides.

He pops another marshmallow into his mouth automatically, the piece gone just as quickly as he let it come in. “What are you even doing up anyway? I thought you  _had enough of the great outdoors for one day_ ,” he mocks without remorse.

She just lifts her hand, brushing back long spindles of blonde hair that managed to turn into bursts of summery light under the favor of the licking flames. Her fingers hover over her bare shoulder briefly, long fingers scratching uncomfortably at a patch of skin, brows knit in concentration over a lie she could easily tell (or not).

“Your chewing was loud. I was just making sure it didn’t attract any bears,” she says, the inflection giving her away, “Bears like food, and you’re eating food and disturbing wildlife.”

She opens her mouth again like she’s about to add more to the list, but she snaps her jaw shut and he can only imagine the shade of red her cheeks must be under his intense gaze. All he can really make out are her shifting eyes, and the nervous drum of her fingers at the top of her knee. 

 “Riiiiggghhttt. Sounds completely legitimate. Well, rest assured. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t need to worry about any bears. No open food left except for these marshmallows and soon to be opened chocolate and graham crackers.” The tone of his voice is nothing but light and playful, head rolling comfortably towards her as the beginnings of a laugh runs up the rungs of his ribcage.

“Wally, don’t,” she warns just as he turns away to cough up a laugh that tries to escape.

“I’m cool. I’m fine,” he mutters pathetically, “See I kept it all in.”

“You better be,” she hisses.

“Or, what? You’re gonna send the bear after me?” he teases.

Artemis quirks a perfectly shaped brow. “No. But I’m pretty sure you’d be begging for the bear if you wake Conner up before he gets his eight hours.”

The fire crackles. Once. Twice. A flame bursts, and he watches as it skews the shadows caressing her face. He can see more dips and appreciate the curves of her cheeks as the light of the flame consumes her whole, right down to her shoelaces.

“D’uhhh, fair enough,” he quiets.

“Good. I also hope you are aware that if you are making s’mores, I automatically get at least two of them,” she says with a smirk as she begins eyeing the bag between his legs.

Wally instinctively moves his legs closer together, twisting to his right to do whatever he could to conceal the bag from her hungry eyes.

“But I already ate half the bag? There’s probably only enough left to make eight of these things!” he nearly shrieks.

“Oh, I know.” The flutter of her eyes is lethal.

“In some countries this would be unheard of,” he says with narrowed eyes, the corners of his mouth dropping into a look of displeasure.

She leans closer to the red head, all eyes and mouth and loose hair. And she kind of looks ethereal, almost like she arose from the very embers that kept the fire kicking and screaming.  He wonders about the kind of damage he would take from touching her, pressing calloused fingers just a little past her jaw. To her face, and just padding wherever his deft fingers would lead him over skin that should burn and set him ablaze. He doesn’t mind being consumed.

Her fingers tick over his, glossing over the skin at his knuckles before tugging at the plastic that only becomes looser and looser in his hands.

She smirks over her own victory.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Now fork over a skewer before I think about taking a third,” she demands, hand extending forward, palm up and waiting.

 He leers, huffs in frustration before the small stick is in her hands. The stiffness on his face only gets worse when he eyes her stabbing two marshmallows on the end of her skewer. He quickly follows, mimicking her placement, hand sliding the mass of fluff at the end.  He slumps forward, one hand holding the marshmallows over the flame, the other gripping at his freckled elbow while his lips twist up into an undignified pout.

His face only relaxes when he sees her eyes wander, skewer nowhere near the flame. “Considering you’ve rudely intruded upon my dining experience, you should at least cut with the lying and tell me why you’re really up at this hour.”

Her shoulders tense and any words that could have been used to cover her, to hide her from the answers are gone. Artemis lowers her stick, head bowing forward enough to allow her hair to dribble over her shoulder.

She’s glowing. She’s vulnerable. He can see her. And she was letting him.

“I, um, I mean…you don’t have to answer that question if you don’t want to,” Wally says while pulling his stick away from the fire.

The marshmallows are still lit, and he blows out the flame from the charred ends that bubble into a blackness that he finds inviting.

She hunches her back, elbows finding a space on her knees as she balances her stick between her fingers. When she finally thinks of something worthwhile to say, she simply sweeps her eyes upwards, peering eerily through thick lashes.

“It’s fine. Nothing really. I just dreamt of white. It was kind of weird,” she answers with a shrug of her shoulders.

He swallows the unevenness in his throat. “White?”

She waves her hand back and forth, dismissing any awkwardness that her answer may have caused. “Yeah, I don’t know what it means, but it really doesn’t matter. It was literally just white. No one was there. It was quiet. Nothing exciting.”

“But it creeped you out enough to come find me here?”

She scratches at the side of her nose before dropping her hand back into her lap.

“Creeped? No. Woke me up to the sound of crickets and other questionably disgusting bugs from my tent? Yes. Trying to go back to sleep with all these noises is pretty much impossible. And considering you invited me here and were conveniently awake I thought it would be a good idea to preoccupy my time by pestering you. Win-win situation for me,” she rasps.  

She tosses her head in his direction to get a better look of him, to see the red and marvel at how it fails to dim in even the darkest of cast shadows. It was better than white. It was better than emptiness.

She dips her skewer into the fire, the marshmallows catching the ends of the flame whole. She makes no effort to stop it, only pulling them away when the entire surface has darkened. In her distraction, she brings the heated sugar to her mouth without a sign of hesitation. And when she chomps down swiftly, she instantly regrets it.

The skewer falls away from her hand into the dirt, and her hands fly to her mouth in a fury as she forces it open in an attempt to cool her tongue and lips from the sieging pain of heat that was suffocating her.

Wally leaves his half made s’more behind, turning immediately to face her from where he sat. He grips her shoulders firmly, trying to force her out of her initial shock.

“Artemis? Artemis! What happened? Are you okay?”

The marshmallow was a heated mush in her mouth, and she naturally swallowed it before she opened her mouth to say the only things that seemed appropriate.

“H-aautt!” she tried to roll over her sore tongue, “Haaooott!”

His eyes dart to her hands that have already begun fanning her mouth, anything desperate to cool the burning sensation that probably seared off her taste buds for a good while now. He licks his lips tentatively before deciding to bite down softly on his lower lip. All he could see was her distress, the mark of regret welling without her permission at the corner of her eyes over the throbbing; over the heat she couldn’t seem to rid herself of.

He blows hard. And the air that he expels just barely catches her upper lip, smearing instead over her cheeks and past her earlobe. His eyebrows knit, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaves her shoulders and grabs at her face, the sides of her jaw. She blinks once, his hands pulling her forward as close as he thought would help improve his aim. He tries again, emptying the air from his lungs in a mighty blow that just barely felt any better over the numbness consuming her mouth. And between each breath, his fingers find a better holding, manage to find themselves entrapped in blonde hair she couldn’t find time to tame.     

She finally has the good sense to grab his hands to stop him mid breath. She stays perfectly still.

_He’s really close. He’s close. He’s right here._

And it does enough to chill her. She tries to pry his hands away, but they are there and unmoving.  _And is he getting closer? Why is he this close? Why is he right—_

His eyes are half hooded, intent, marveling. She swallows. And everything past this point is a filthy lie, an empty promise.  _White_.

(His lips were just hovering. And she barely tasted him, barely felt his upper lip graze hers. They were at a standstill. And she was sure she wanted it. He might even want this too.

Her lips pulsed. And everything was red, right down to the rush of blood that sloshed a mess of sound into her ears.

He hummed. It was bright. His breathe was nothing, but warm. And they were both heaving.)

She bellows a laugh, and his fingers slacken. And she is fire. She burns and chars. His fingers do nothing but bubble under her touch, go numb. She pulls away (she has to). The wetness in her eyes, she just dabs away at with the back of her hand.

Everything is fine. They are fine. They are where they were when she had found him keeping the flames company. Normal was good. Normal was them. And there was no grey area. Just two people.

He coughs a few times into his fist. She won’t wonder about what shade his cheeks are or why his eyes looked that way, big and lost. They are just two people with a fire.

“Geez, Wall-man. Someone needs to go over first aide with you or something. What the heck was that even?” she quivers.

Her unsteadiness is only heightened in the barrage of flames shaking her silhouette onto the tree behind her like dripping ink. Saying more would only make it worse, would only make it weirder.

She turns on her heel, not waiting for a word or explanation or feeling. She was done with everything, all of that.

(Her lips throb. And everything was searing.)

“You know what? Don’t answer that. Thanks for whatever you did. It was—I got to go.”

The words pour out of her, and her feet can’t take her away fast enough. She makes it back to her tent, M’gann’s form not moving an inch as she sneaks back into her sleeping bag.

All she can do now is breathe, deep and long to rid herself of his closeness, his hands, the smell of him. And when she can finally slip away, when the fire is dead, but the sky is awakening and glowing, she dreams of white.  


End file.
